Footprints of Remembrance
by SomewhereBeyondReality
Summary: Four pieces of drabble charting Susan and Marcus's developing relationship; sequel to 'Second Chances' and 'Watching'. Set after the end of Season 5. Don't ask me how I came up with the title.
1. The Steward and the Shieldmaiden

**This chapter includes references to Lord of the Rings: I'm sure I'm not the only one out there's whose seen the similarities between Susan/Marcus and Eowyn/Faramir? Occured to me one day as I was rereading and rewatching the two masterpeices of LOTR and B5; the parallel was so perfect that I just had to put it in a fic and figured that Marcus would be my ally for that observation; him reading so much and all.**

**Anyways hope you enjoy!**

**X-X**

She reminds him of Eowyn.

The Lord of the Rings has always been one of Marcus's favourite books: the depth, the complexity, the tireless struggles, the awe striking battles against numerous odds – all so perfectly entwined and woven into an intrinsic multi-layered epic.

A shimmering tapestry of colours too many to name that come to form the indelible final effect.

Marcus often thinks that their own battle – Babylon 5's story has certain symmetry to Lord of the Rings. A double mirrored reflection of each other perhaps.

The battle against numerous odds is definitely true.

If so then Susan's resemblance to Eowyn is even more poignant.

They both posses a type of untameable spirit.

A will almost unbreakable in strength.

A sober gravity giving them maturity beyond their years.

A fierce courage that knows no depth.

They are both warriors: A terror in battle – defeating enemies no one dared to challenge.

They are leaders: respected (and perhaps feared) by their people.

A symbol to follow; though not as glorified as other more renowned men who carry the face of light.

They get less praise than deserved. But neither let female binds stop them for a moment. Steel determination leading the way.

The two also share (and hear Marcus gives a wry grin), a rather hot temper and biting tongue coupled with hardened pride giving them the appearance of untouchable ice.

"_I saw a white flower standing straight and proud, shapely as a lily and yet knew it was hard, as if wrought by elf wrights out of steel. Or was it maybe, a frost that had turned its sap to ice and so it stood, bitter-sweet, still fair to see but stricken..."_

Yes. Ice.

That more than anything is true.

The stern masks they don shielding the outer world from inner pain. Both suffered and lost and grieved – yet soldiered on tirelessly. Shield maidens: with arms and hearts of steel. Or some would stay of stone.

Both lost their parents; both were forced to watch on as their father figure was dragged slowly out of their desperate grasp.

Both of their brothers rode away to war – leaving them alone to bear the burden, leaving them behind.

Perhaps they share that great fear as well; to be the ones left behind while others fight and die.

And both of them were beautiful. Tall and slender – exchange: _hair, fair as river of gold _for – hair, chestnut as a river of flame and it fitted like a glove.

Marcus doesn't think he'll ever share this comparison with Susan. She usually spurns compliments no matter how persistently he drops them and explaining why and how she bears resemblance to the white lady of Rohan could get complicated.

Ironically enough though she actually _asks _about Eowyn (albeit unwittingly and completely ignorant of the depth behind the inquiry).

They're in her quarters, she's bent over the table going over some papers (does she ever stop?) and Marcus is sprawled on the sofa reading. A plate of biscuits is between them and various half filled cups of tea (for him) and coffee (for her) adorn the room.

It's become a routine since Marcus became her fellow Entil'zh.

Most evenings he'll head over to her room usually bearing some gift of hard-to-attain snacks. They'll start by discussing Ranger's training or some political situation that's arisen but the talk slowly dwindles from work to…well anything really. And sometimes they stop talking altogether.

"What are you reading?"

Willingly Marcus raises his gaze from the text. "Lord of the Rings." He holds the cover up for proof.

She rolls her eyes, "A classic – of course. Is it good?"

"Mmm. Very."

The papers are obviously getting boring because she swivel's around and leans towards him over the arm rest.

"Alright, I'll be interested. What's happening?"

"Ah. Well…"

How to explain the whole 1008 page storyline in a few simple words?

"Have you ever read it before?"

"I think I studied it at school, but that was long, _long _time ago."

She suffers under the misguided delusion she's old. Marcus restrains himself from offering a corrections and returns to explaining.

"Well at the moment I'm in the middle of a chapter called _The Steward and the King_."

That would mean nothing to her but it was a good place to start.

"And?"

"Two of the characters – Faramir and Eowyn – are recovering from near death experiences. They're both pretty fed up to be stuck in bed while there's a war going on actually."

"Understandably."

"Yep. But Faramir seems to be making a play for Eowyn." He flashes a knowing grin. "But she doesn't seem interested."

"Why?"

Marcus sits up now, swinging his legs forward to touch the floor. "Too busy worrying about riding off to war."

A smile comes to his face.

"Plus I'm sure she considers him a bit of a wimp really: spouting poetry or music and she's only interested in the warrior aspect. Probably thinks he's just being a pain. She'll learn."

He's still smiling as he says it but Susan doesn't seem to catch the irony.

"Well I don't blame her." She moves to settle beside him, legs tucked up.

"Of course you don't." Absentmindedly Marcus reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Such actions are becoming routine for both of them now.

"So what's Eowyn like then?"

"Strong." He says simply, the word heavy with meaning.

"_Spirited. Dedicated. …Proud. Determined. Fierce. Serious – she's been through a lot but doesn't show it….and she's beautiful."_

He adds that one quietly, still looking at her.

"Hmph. Sounds too good to be true."

"Sometimes it seems as if she is." He pauses and Susan looks at him, slight confusion clouding her gaze. She must be working it out…she _must _realise….

Yes.

The confusion vanishes.

Realisation floods in and with it blood to her cheeks. She blushes quietly, caught offhand.

Then she shifts forward to plant her lips on his.

The kiss is long and slow and lingering and sends shivers up Marcus's spine.

He's is suddenly very aware of her body so close to his. The sudden burning in her eyes. The pounding of his heart. His breath hitches and their hands are trembling slightly as they lean in again…

And for a while he's not really focused on epic analyzation anymore, his attention is...elsewhere.

Marcus never really explained why he so told Susan he was a virgin. Maybe it was part of the scheme to encourage her closer. Maybe it was just he wanted her to know how special she was.

When he'd returned they hadn't rushed into it. He'd been back from the dead five months now and nothing had 'happened'. Marcus had sensed that Susan wanted him to be sure that she was worth it. She didn't want him to waste it. She still didn't truly believe it was for _her._

It was ridiculous – it had always been for her – he knew there was never any doubt in the matter but he was content to let things develop slowly. After accepting the end of everything – including his life – it was hardly a trial to wait another couple of weeks.

Now though, everything just came together, without warning or presumption they'd just _done_ it.

And Marcus knew he'd been right. That it – _she_ – had been worth waiting for.

Afterwards they lay together in the darkened room. He held Susan in his arms in an achingly familiar position – her head nestled in under a shoulder, his fingers gently caressing – but it had never been quite like _this. _

"Marcus?" Her voice pierced the quiet room.

"Yes?"

"Earlier, you were talking about Faramir…and Eowyn, you meant me, didn't you?"

"Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"Like I've said before." Even now the tone is firm. "And will obviously have to keep saying over and over again: when something happens that I _don't _know about – worry."

"Right." His grin shines through the black. "Of course, when something happens you don't know about, we'll probably all be dead."

"And I thought I was the pessimistic one."

She stops briefly and speaks very low.

"You know…Eowyn was lucky to have Faramir as well…" Her breath catches and she tries to force lightness into the tone.

"Even if he was a pain in the arse."

Marcus knows she can feel him smiling against her hair.

There's a long pause and Susan relaxes again. He can feel drowsiness slowly creeping its way through his body. Everything, his legs, his hands, the tips of his fingers are so heavy. And the bed, the room – Susan – are very warm.

"Oh, and Marcus?" The words float through his foggy consciousness.

"Mmm?"

"I love you."

Even on the brink of sleep the burst of heat rushes through Marcus, sending his heart to his throat.

He tightens his grip and draws her closer to him with a sleepy sigh.

"Good. Because I love you too."

As he slips into the dark realms of dreams, sinking into embracing unconsciousness a final line echoes in his mind.

"_There goes a lord who tamed a wild shield maiden of the North."_

And there goes a man who tamed Susan Ivanova.

**Please review – I don't care if its gushing, constructive criticism (thought that's the most useful) or even flame, just tell me what you think! **


	2. Roses

**Slight references to various ep's throughout B5 in this story but nothing too significant, just a couple of loose ends I always wanted to give conclusion to. **

**Chapter Two: **

Susan can't help but be depressed at her wardrobe.

Her lifestyle doesn't exactly lend itself to primping and shopping – acting as a nomad for Earth force, dealing with galaxy changing events on a regular basis and cramming 32 hours of work into a 24 hour day – but this was pathetic.

Beside old uniforms and her Entil'zh robes she possessed three other outfits: two pairs of scrubby jogging pants – and a dress.

Susan gazed ruefully in the mirror after donning the last item: even more proof she had no life. No life outside work at least. Words like _fun _or _entertainmen_t…_enjoyment…relaxation_ just didn't register anymore.

It was laughable. The gown is covered in dust and originally would have been a lustrous black shade: now it's a sort of dirty grey like washing up liquid.

Certainly no amount of washing and ironing would take out the wrinkles which sagged in all the wrong places (yes, _all_). It also conjured up not-so-pleasant images of the Queen of the Underworld. Susan didn't relish the thought of being referred to as Pluto's wife for most of the evening.

In short it looked like it had been crumpled in a coffin for the last ten years. Not so far from the truth if you counted the bottom of various wardrobes as a graveyard for clothes wear.

Susan sighed with frustration and ripped it off. Her hair got stuck in the zip and she yanked at it, hissing with pain as it finally came away – attached to the roots of her scalp.

She'd returned from her usual walk this morning to find a note in her quarters. It was a simple slip of parchment, old and yellowed, folded in half with her name – _Susan_ – written on the front in old English script.

That alone tipped her off for who it was from. Anyone else who address it Ivanova, Entil'zh or even General if they were from Earth. And of course only Marcus would bother writing on such wasteful paper.

_Susan._

_I hope you're free tonight because if not I'm going to clear your schedule anyway – by any means possible. If it's a meeting you'd better not value its participant's lives too greatly. _

_I'll be by at your quarters at 6:15 to pick you up; don't even bother asking what's happening because I'm not going to tell you. Just wear something nice for once. That's not too much to ask. _

_Marcus _

She'd been irritated. Of course she'd been irritated.

It was so like him – he _knew_ she hated surprises and any romantic notions but he persisted in showering her with them. Would he ever learn to just be a normal lover and try to keep her happy rather than making an _effort _to be a pest?

Well since when had Marcus done anything normally?

She would've ignored her fellow Entil'zh and lover (of course) and interrogated him about the 'surprise' anyway but of course today he chose to vanish. It was unusual not to see him around – they did work together after all – but he was obviously hiding.

Damn him! The relentless cockiness and self assurance that she'd turn up despite everything was just plain aggravating.

Did he really think he could just summon her and she'd come running?

Well the answer was obvious. Yes. Yes he did.

And unfortunately he was right. She hadn't been able suppress the darts of excitement jolting through her blood from the moment the note appeared.

Maybe it was time to call it all off – he knew her too well.

But Susan knew nothing short of the Shadows returning could prevent her from finding out what tonight was about.

Well that or her lack of clothes. Susan sighed and slipped her dressing gown on, crumpling onto her bed in defeat.

She could lead a fleet of any type of alien ship into battle, face opponents out-numbered ten to one with only an old bamboo stick, send a Minbarii warrior's knees knocking, reroute a shuttle power system with a toothpick in pitch black but finding an outfit for a date?

Out of her range.

She was too old for this: dating was something done in your twenties – not fifties. Middle aged women shouldn't be spending time in front of a mirror – it was too depressing.

Her wallowing was interrupted by a chime at the door.

"Who is it?"

Maybe if it was one of the Ranger's she could convince them to tell Marcus she'd fallen ill with some kind of infectious disease…

"It is I; Delenn. May I come in?" A pause. "It's urgent."

"Oh. Um, just a minute!" Susan heaved herself up, tightening the cord around her waist. "Enter!"

Delenn glided in, giving the usual impression of an accidentally earth born angel.

"Good evening Susan." She eyed her critically, placing a box on the table. "You are preparing for something?"

"Um, it's a little complicated..."

"Indeed." Delenn said seriously. "I hear this human tradition of 'dates' as you call them are indeed a complex and stressful matter." Her smile dimpled at the look on Susan's face. "You think I do not know these things?"

"I just thought –"

"I have studied humans you know; it is good to do so when you live among them – or marry them." She placed her hands on Susan's shoulder with a laugh. "Now from your attire I think I can attain that you are struggling to choose an outfit."

"Choose?" Susan gave a snort. "Chance would be a fine thing."

"Well…" Delenn turned and slid open the lid of the box she'd brought in. "Do you think this would suffice?"

The dress was folded in shimmering folds of a deep greeny blue. Sea blue like ocean whirl pools. Susan drew it out, running her fingers along the silky material. It was cool like the ocean too.

On fitting it was simple: reaching down to between her knees and ankles in smooth, unadulterated waves, loose and floating. Above the hips it clung to her curves without being too tight, leaving enough to the imagination – and in her old age Susan knew it was a good thing. There were no sleeves, the neckline a halter style coming up together at the base of her skull.

Delenn produced an airy, silver shawl – like the mist above the waves – and settled it over her bare shoulders.

"There." She stepped back to admire her handiwork, "You are beautiful."

Susan doubted it but turning to gaze in the mirror she admitted it wasn't bad. Maybe a bit more than not bad. Reasonable...

"However...the hair..." Delenn had her hands on her hips. "Sit down. Now."

"I'm not sure –"

"I said _now _Susan." Her eyebrows pulled into a V. "You do not want to argue with me on this."

Trusting her had got her this far: with a sigh Susan plumped onto the bed, closing her eyes as her mentor-come-torturer undid her plait and drew a brush through the long curls. She combed it in slow, steady strokes. The motion calmed her, sending pleasant tingles through her scalp.

Her mother used to brush her hair like this; every morning and night. Familiar lullaby's of that time drifted through her mind as deft fingers tucked a couple of wayward strands back into the mane and brushed away a rebellious attempt at a fringe.

Susan recalled introducing Delenn to the concept of 'doing your hair' years before. The lesson had been learnt well.

"There." Delenn said softly as she finished. "Leave it loose; he likes it that way. You are ready." She cupped Susan's chin and kissed her on the forehead. "Have a good time." With a gentle, sweeping whisper she floated from the room as quickly as she had come.

Susan was left reeling.

She really was getting too soft for her own good. She stared at her unusual reflection blankly; she normally favoured different shades for dresses – red or black – but the blue was striking, her vibrant chestnut hair a sharp contrast against the cool colour and long arms bare. She leaned forward...

Another chime broke the moment.

"Coming!" Moving with enthusiasm that belied her she grabbed her bag and marched to the door. "Yes?"

Marcus had dressed up as well; Susan realised that how rarely she'd seen him out of Ranger robes.

He scanned her appreciatively. "You look beautiful."

"That better be the compliment for the night. I don't want to spend all evening fending them off."

He laughed. "Some women enjoy them you know." He sobered for a moment. "Then again you never were like other woman." He hesitated, swallowing nervously, "Um..."

This was unlike him. "Yes?"

He stepped towards her, producing a long object from behind his back. Susan's eyes widened. "Twenty years ago someone gave you a rose." He gazed at her. "It wasn't me then."

He laid the flower gently in her palm. "Now it is."

A lump rose to her throat as she gazed at the scarlet petals perfectly curved in sculpted patterns. Twenty years ago it had been a bunch of roses wrapped up in foil, a cluster bound together. Now it was just a single stem, long and slender. But it was _real, _soft and fragrant; a fragrance that no artificial blooms could fake.

"Susan?"

Her head snapped up, blinking away the sudden tears. "Mmm?"

"You don't like roses?"

"No…no." She cleared her throat firmly, fingers curling carefully. "I love them. Thank you."

He smiled with gentleness and humour she could never understand or deserve. "Good. It was hard enough convincing the Minbarii to grow a rose bush in the garden. Apparently they think they represent bad luck." He offered an arm. "Shall we?"

She slipped her hand through his elbow. "Well after all that trouble I suppose I better had."

X-X

The secret location turns out to be a small niche in the gardens – it's tucked away in the corner; a sheer wall rising up behind and on one side, rows of trees and bushes shielding any other prying eyes. In front of them a breathtaking view stretches out: hilly gardens with singing waterfalls falling into dancing rivers and far beyond a glittering lake which Marcus declares is the exact shade of Susan's dress.

He's set out a table set for two with food he _claims _he cooked himself, Susan's doubtful and makes a mental note to check with Delenn if she's helped him out recently as well.

Or maybe one of the Rangers offered their assistance. If she finds out there's an unexpected rise in grading somewhere…

But despite her cynicism the food _is _good whoever the cook and the wine an interesting blend of Earth's finest and some Minbarii concoction: Marcus had to order it in mixed because pure alcohol is forbidden on Minbar. They both remember an incident when some of the Minbarii Ranger's decided to test their drinking limits. One glass and they were running around the place like headless chickens – or Londo after a night out.

The companies even better though and the evening passes quickly, soon the sun is setting and twilight lingers.

Shadows are cast across the two of them and Susan pauses in drinking to gaze over the rim of her glass. The last rays of light fall upon Marcus's face, illuminating his profile; like an artist's portrait. He's laughing, gray eyes sharp against the brown hair, flashing teeth contrasting with dark beard.

The wind sweeps through the garden, causing distant chimes to rustle, gently melding with the whispering leaves.

In that moment Susan never thinks she's loved him more.

"Marcus." She says. Tongue moving without order. "Move in with me."

He drops his fork. "What?"

"Move in with me." Her tone is firmer now and she sets her glass down."

This wasn't her. It wasn't remotely near her. If she exploded this place wouldn't hear the noise for three weeks.

Susan is the logical one, the controlled one. The one who thinks things out a thousand times before considering the vague possibility of suggesting that they might be able to start thinking about the chance of planning to some time attempt something.

The idea is impulsive. And rash. And ill thought out.

"Move in with me. She repeats without hesitation. Because deep in her gut or heart or wherever these feelings come from is a deep and utter certainty that this is _right. _

_They_ are right.

She's never lost control before, never let herself get too carried away, but now there's a bubbling in her stomach sending darts of steel through her blood. Her heart's beating erratically and her mouth's dry, fingers very cold.

Maybe she's become more like the Minbarii that she thought and the wine's taking effect.

"Susan, are you feeling alright?"

"Never better." And it's true. She stretches across the table and grips his hand. "Marcus; I've never been good at, at – this, at relationships, at commitment. You know all of that but…" She swallows, a rarely used word dropping from her lips. "Please. Move in with me."

He's squeezes back, their close skin very warm but he doesn't say anything and suddenly Susan is worried. Not that she may not be ready for this, but that _he _may not be ready. It's not something she generally has to worry about with Marcus (the opposite in fact) but she doesn't want to push him too fast, she doesn't want to ruin it.

Saying she 'struggles' with relationships is an understatement. A euphemism for something a lot more graphic. She doesn't want this to turn into another sinking ship like every other damn relationship. Because this time it wouldn't just be a cruiser going down – it would be the whole damn Titanic.

She ignores the curling sensation in her stomach. The bottom seems to have dropped out. "Marcus if you don't want to that's fine, I mean –" She pulls her hand away.

His head snaps up. The intensity in his eyes stops her short. "Yes."

"What?"

"Yes."

"You know you can consider it if you want –"

"No."

Now she's the one nonplussed though her stomach has been sealed again. "I don't want to force you into this; I mean you can think it over –"

"I don't want to think it over."

"But –"

"I said yes Susan."

Well. This is a night of '_Not _Susan Ivanova' moments. No one ever cuts off her sentences. Ever. She usually knocks them flat before they have chance. But right now, she's stuttering like some lisping fool and her cheeks are flushing red. She feels like a school girl. And a feeble one at that.

"Ah…right. Very well." The cringing weight is dissolving; well fizzing more accurately. Hopeful bubbles rising to her throat. She stares at her plate.

"So," She jerks up at Marcus's voice. His expression is deceptively sober but there's a familiar twinkling in his eyes. "This is it then."

"It is."

They stare at each other for a long moment. Stone expressions. Susan sure he's just about to crack when he does the unthinkable. Takes a shot way below the belt.

He kisses her.

Susan witnesses it as if in slow motion from her paralysed position. Marcus leans across the table, retaking her frozen hands in his, stroking one motionless cheek, cupping her chin and then –

Well then she's not really observing much more.

They must've kissed a thousand times before by now. Susan would've thought that eventually it would just get…dull, but somehow that point doesn't seem to come.

And she hopes it never does.

Eventually they break away, foreheads still inches apart.

"That was cheating."

He laughs again. "I know."

She forces her mind back to the original issue rather than the trembling running throughout her body. "No one's going to believe I was the one who suggested…_it._"

"I know that too."

Susan smiles, an old memory suddenly floating back. Her and Marcus aboard the White Star; discussing those ridiculous beds (even after all these years she's never got used to them). Susan remembers her dream then, her vision of being posted somewhere with comfortable quarters and a garden and a view.

She glances briefly to her left; the last rays finally slipping down below the horizon, plunging the rolling landscape into darkness. Well one wish has been granted. But she remembers the other part of the vision; the part involving a large canopied…

"Susan," Marcus's voice doesn't drag her back to reality this time so much as join her in the dream state.

"Yes?"

"I'll order the bed tomorrow."


	3. Completley and Utterly

**A bit of a longer chapter this time so I hope you enjoy it! I had a lot of fun playing around with Minbarii space as you will see... **

**X-X**

**Chapter Three:**

Marcus was going to do it. He _was. _

It was just a matter of choosing the right time.

It wasn't like he hadn't had the chance recently. Minutes had melded into hours, hours into days, days into weeks all with one over arching factor is common.

Boredom.

Because _nothing _had happened. It was the most uneventful period he'd ever experienced unless you counted the time when he was 'dead'. (Frequently termed as the 'cocoon stage'.)

But now – no new Rangers, no accidents, no White Star collisions, no unexpected guests, not even the merest whiff of a fight. It was peaceful and relaxing and soothing and he had a feeling Susan was going to crack any day now. Maybe he should set up an explosion somewhere just to give her something to do.

Of course it wasn't they hadn't been _busy. _(Don't mistake nothing and boredom for a lack of busyness). Reports piled on reports swamped him and Susan was drowning in paperwork – but somehow filling out forms didn't have the same excitement as storming into battles did.

"My life is like a docking bay." Susan announces, pacing restlessly up and down their quarters.

"Fifty ships come at once and you're trying to deal with them all, frantically cataloguing then – boom – nothing for days and you're bored out of your skull sitting in the transit lounge."

She throws her hands in the air. "Why does this world hate me so much? Why does god hate me huh? What have I ever done to him?"

Marcus yawns. "Besides insulting him under your breath for fun, frequently using his name in vain whenever anything does happen and committing hubris by announcing to all under your command that – I quote – 'Ivanova _is _god'; then I suppose you haven't done anything really."

Susan sends him a cold glare and he backs towards the kitchen and flicks on the kettle. "Um, do you want some coffee?" He's found its best to keep on her good side when she's in one of these moods.

She throws herself on the sofa. "Why did I ever consider retirement? Remind me never to do so; I mean I must be near that age by now but if I ever show any sign of temptation strand me on desert island for a week." She glances over at him. "_Am _I near retirement age now? Am I? I can't even remember anymore, my mind and body is deteriorating from lack of use."

Marcus doubts that will ever happen. Even now stretched languidly over the sofa her body is poised and powerful ready to spring at a moment's notice. She's fuel tank for energy. "So you not knowing your age means I can't give you a birthday present next year?"

"I wish. I think we both know _that's _never going to happen."

Susan turned fifty two the month before and Marcus threw her a surprise party – she's still plotting revenge. He kind of hopes she never got round to it.

The kettle finishes boiling and he extracts two mugs. "I really wouldn't worry. Before you know something else will come up and you'll be back to sleepless nights in no time." The water's boiled and he pours it carefully.

A chime at the door breaks Marcus's concentration and he curses, burning pain shooting up his arm. Susan throws a tea towel at him and strides to the door. "Enter!"

It's Neider; one of the most renowned Rangers and a trusted adviser. "Entil'zh" He bows quickly to both of them and Marcus flaps the hand not scrubbing the worktop at him. Susan smiles welcomingly, instantly ushering him towards the sofa.

"Neider! Come in, sit down." Her tone is strangely warm and the quiet Minbarii obeys with a nervous glance.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. What news do you have for us? Nothing unfortunate's happened has it?" The worry in her voice is almost convincing.

"No, no nothing serious." She wilts visibly at that. "However some Rangers were training on the outskirts of Minbarii space; you know the small Banta moon where long term isolated exercises take place. But a message just came through; they need to return early – in just under a week."

"Oh…of course." Susan's tone is dull again and Marcus stifles a grin, bending over to wipe the surface. "Well that's simple, I'll inform the Captain of White Star 22 that he'll leave in a couple of days. I think it's available."

She glances at the Ranger. "You didn't need to inquire with us about this Neider. You can sort issues like this on your own authority – you know that."

"I did Entil'zh however…" He pauses with delicacy that only Minbarii can manage. "I was wondering if perhaps you two would want to go."

"_Us?" _Their simultaneous replies combine; mingling surprise together.

"Yes." A shadow of a smile flits across Neider's features. "I believe it would be – pleasant for you to, perhaps get away for a short time. We Minbarii feel that sometimes remaining in one place can be – em, stifling for some of the free spirit. It is good to take breaks from ones normal routine, in order to reflect on life in a…different environment."

He reminds Marcus of Lennier: having perfected that art of hesitant courtesy while offering advice that was usually obligatory to accept.

Marcus feels his stomach twist at the thought of Lennier: Gone now, without the chance of goodbye, a farewell (not that he ever liked them anyway). Just…vanished. Even after almost a year Marcus is still catching himself on how much has changed.

He packages that thought in a box; let it stay locked and rot there. It's a system he's perfected over the years.

"You really want us to go?" He tosses the tea towel down and moves over. "Should I enquire about this sudden eagerness? Is there some forbidden party planned I should know about?"

Neider bows respectfully, a smile hovering. "I believe the human saying in these scenarios is _now that would be telling._ Of course if there _was _a party I would not want you to be…angered will the knowledge."

"Angered? Me? Nonsense." Marcus scratches his head. "I'd just be offended you didn't invite me."

Susan rolls her eyes in exasperation. "Well as…appealing as the journey sounds Neider. I really don't think we can be spared. It's a two day journey each way – simply not possible." She speaks reluctantly; her firm answer barely masking the regret.

"Ah yes Entil'zh of course not." Neider agrees. "We have after all been overrun with crisis's of late, barely a moment free. I understand why you would feel such guilt at leaving this hectic place without your guidance for almost half a week. I do not know how we would manage." He punctuates the reassurance with nods of his head befitting the sober expression. Susan erects another icy glare in reply.

Marcus chuckles and shifts his gaze to the high ceiling, thoughts bouncing inside his mind. Could they? Neider was right; it wasn't as if they were going to be missed. Susan would be hard to convince but he'd always been a master of persuasion after all.

"Come on Susan, why not?" The words pop out impulsively and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He carries on quickly. "We're not needed here, _nothing's _happened. Why shouldn't we go? It might be fun."

"You obviously haven't been introduced to the concept of Murphy's Law. Trust me the moment the door closes behind me the whole place will go up in flames or infested by giant bugs or something I don't even want to _envision._"

"Then don't." His tone is wheedling now. "You know you want to. When was the last time you went up into space? We can leave tomorrow and make a few stops on the way; there are plenty of planets in Minbarii space I haven't seen and you need to get out more. What about the Singing Cliffs Delenn's always talking about? That can't be far off course." He expertly leaves that suggestion hanging and turns to Neider. "You know on Earth we have another name for this period of reflection; we call it a holiday…_Some_ people struggle with the concept. Workaholics, control freaks…"

"Control freak?" The stony words cut through his twittering instantly. "Neider, could you give us a moment please?" The Ranger (who'd been backing away) obeyed with alacrity. "We'll be out in a moment."

As the door slid smoothly shut Susan turned on him. He's surprised sparks don't come from her eyes. "Are you_ really_ sure you want to go around calling people that?" Her voice is deceptively sweet and tenses his muscles automatically.

"Well not really but if the label sticks…"

"If the label sticks..." She trails off ominously and takes a couple of steps forward. He seems to shrink a little.

"Absolutely, a label is of course meant to stick. It could be my pet name for you. Have you got tired of Peppermint Cream already –?"

"Marcus. Just don't ever call me that again."

Ah, he's touched a nerve. Despite her rather – advantageous – position he decides to plunge for a chance. "On one condition." He cocks his head on one side and pulls a crooked grin. "I think you know what."

She places hands on hips. "You're not going to give it up are you?"

"No. If you don't agree I'm just going to kidnap you and force you to come on the holiday anyway. It would probably be a lot more relaxing this way. For both of us." Former debates from years before flood his mind. "Remember: Rangers _never _bluff."

Obviously the quip sparks the same memories for her. Her jaw twitches, fists tightening briefly before unclenching. She exhales in a long, huffing breath and Marcus knows he's won.

"I hate you."

"Of that I'm well aware." She's never been a gracious loser after all.

"Six days. Maybe a week. No longer. Got it?"

"Mmm, hmm." His mind is already ferreting with plan. Planets to visit, people to see; Marcus always loved holidays when he was younger. The whole family packing off to some distant location to tour. After his parents – and then Will died – any holiday became a slowly numbing torment; the equivalent to having a red hot poker shoved up you backside. (The fate of one King of England if Marcus remembered rightly). Nobody to go and visit, nothing to do and no work to distract him and keep his mind occupied. On Babylon 5 holiday's were a virtual impossibility, a bonus as far as he was concerned but now…

Now this holiday was going to be different. Not relaxing perhaps but different. Enjoyable. A change of scenery.

"Yes I've got it."

Susan sighed deeply again. "Why do I get the feeling I'm going to regret this?"

"You're a born pessimistic. Obviously no one's introduced _you _to the concept of 'the glass's half full'." He grinned at her frosty expression. "I'll go and tell Neider the plan."

X-X

The following days are busy. They pack up a White Star early in the morning and leave just after the sun rises. Numerous instructions left behind, detailing emergency procedures, lists of Ranger training programs and anything else Susan deems 'crucial'. Marcus has a suspicion half of it went in the holy fires the moment they exited the atmosphere.

Then again Susan wasn't so impressed with the amount he packed – somehow she didn't seem to think monopoly, swimming costumes _and _snowboards were necessary.

But the sights were incredible. They climbed the Singing Cliffs of Seierra – whose haunting melodies could be heard for miles around. The Minbarii said there were souls within the mountain; trapped there centuries past to keep them cleansed and pure away from the tainted world until everyone had forgotten the way in. The sound was them singing for release.

Whatever the case climbing the cliffs was made difficult due to the substance. Not rock (as any sensible person would expect) but a _jelly _like texture; smooth and slippery that trembled and curved as you fought your way up.

It hadn't occurred to Marcus how much he'd missed holed up on Minbar: Feather Floats – feathers large enough to sit and have a ride in. (The views were pretty intense).

The Oceans of Air – natural sea pools made up of some chemical that meant you could actually _breathe _under water.

What the humans labelled 'Minbarii Ghost Town' – at the dawn of every day you could sit and watch the illusion of old cities appear throughout one small Minbarii planet.

The Fire Folk; creatures formed from actual flames, they were as sudden and temperamental as their name and you had to be careful getting too close but even so...if you managed to catch a glimpse of one it was an honour. Marcus was sure he saw five but Susan claimed there'd been as many as eight: she was just overly demanding that one.

The Mines of Mvvar which unearthed flowers made from unnamed gemstones; the Minbarii had stopped mining them when they realised the stones actually grew.

Space Beaches and Swimming Lights. Dancing Statues and the Mirror of Dreams.

They'd been interested in the old Minbarii histories and legends although agreed that after one old Priest tried to seduce them into a thirty hour demonstration ceremony they'd have to be careful about questions asked.

Of course the best thing was that the Minbarii on the White Star did all the driving so there were no arguments over map reading and asking for directions.

Early on the sixth day Marcus lay gazing around the sleeping chamber of White Star 22: they were nearing the Banta Moon and from there should take a more direct route home. Neither he nor Susan thought it was right to subject the innocent Ranger's to participate in their holiday; besides he wanted to get Susan away from work and bringing twenty of them along sightseeing would've ruined that.

He sighed, twirling the object idly between his fingers. He still hadn't done it. It wasn't he hadn't tried. He'd attempted it several times and come pretty close at one point – at a lot of points – but somehow there'd never been the perfect moment.

He was probably just being fussy: his mum had always got irritated at his fussiness when he was younger; food, toys, friends.

"_Marcus, sometimes you just have to get on with life and stop trying to make everything perfect. You have to take things the way they are. You can't solve everything dear."_

He smiled wryly at the memory; good advice – maybe he should take it, maybe he should just bite the bullet and –

"Marcus?"

Marcus shot up like he'd been stung, stuffing the object back into his robes pocket. He blushed and hands scratched the back of his neck, frantically trying to appear calm. "Um, yes – I was just…thinking that uh, sorry – What did you want?" He winced inwardly at the babble that spilled out.

Susan gave him an odd look and his cheeks reddened. "I was just coming to tell that we'll probably drop out of light speed in a couple of minutes; apparently there's a moon arrangement – The Ten Tribes it's called – that's worth seeing."

"Ah sounds good. Should be a memorable end to the trip." He grinned, the brief scare passing. "Glad I managed to convince you?"

"If I hadn't wanted to come in the first place you'd never had had a chance you know."

"Excellent. In that case we should do it again." He paused as a thought occurred. "You know I remember a while ago, before…everything; you said when the war ended you wanted to return to Earth, see St Petersburg, your father's grave. Did – did you ever do all of that?"

Susan sighed and sank down on the angled bed opposite him. Loose hair falls over her shoulder, curtaining her expression. "Not immediately." Her voice was leaden. "I was stationed on a lot of other ships, in charge of other fleets for a couple of years; I never really made a conscious effort to return."

He can hear the sad smile in her voice. "Never really thought about having that sky above me again. Later obviously I was promoted and went back to Earth. Then I tried…I travelled a little and visited St Petersburg but it was boxed in between work and commitments and duties."

Marcus frowns and she meets his eyes. "You know how it is. An urgent message even arrived when I was by my father's grave." She laughed trying to sound light hearted but Marcus's own heart ached for the implications of her words. "In the end I just gave up on the whole idea."

He knows without her saying that it was partly to do with him. Steven said the reason she left Babylon 5 was to get away from the memories, to run away from the grief and guilt burnt into the walls of the place she'd once considered home. She'd taken the new position to absorb herself in more work…to forget. Dreams like gazing at the sky just left room open for more pain.

Marcus wished there was a way he could have avoided that but there wasn't; the only other option was to let her fade away completely and _that _was unacceptable.

"Well in that case," He's careful to keep the tone the right mix of humour and determination. He doesn't want her depressed but she'd better realise he's serious here. "We'll definitely have to do this again: next time – a holiday on Earth."

There's a short pause and he wonders if that was a not so tactful suggestion but her bowed head lifts and a quiet smiles reaches him. "That might be nice."

A longer pause ensues and Marcus slides over to take Susan's hand in his. He's isn't sure if its pleasure or torment to be back on a White Star with her again – so much of their time together were on these: Fighting in the Shadow War, weeks searching for the First Ones... the two of them cocooned in the tiny ship adrift in space all alone in the black, a tiny island just for them. He had a feeling she only talked to him because he was the only other being on board who spoke English but still – she _talked. _

To him the White Star_ is_ all of those isolated moments, that haven of time. It's Susan's stressing about convincing the First One's to join them, it's his disbelief at having to get permission to talk about her personal life (and subsequent determination to do so), it's her dreams of the war being over, its his admittance he's a virgin and waiting for 'someone special', its their bantering arguments about getting rest and who needs the sleep more...it's his offers to teach her Minbarii and sneaking in cloaked compliments, its her discovering and displaying actual _gratitude _for those compliments.

But on the other hand the White Star is other memories as well: It's the piece of shrapnel careering towards the window destroying the oh-so-brief moment of victory, it's the sound of shattering glass and collapsing beams, it's the feel of her limp body in his arms as he drags her out through a haze of shaking terror, the sound of her failing heart beeping on the monitor and the sensation of his own failure seeping through his body, heart and soul.

Then again maybe this holiday is forging some new memories: maybe they'll be enough to outweigh the bad at last. Susan's shifts slightly and squeezes his hand. "We should go."

"Mmm...I know." He tightens his grip.

"Marcus." Her laugh crept through the frown. "We're jumping out of light speed any second now. Come on." She jabs a sharp elbow into his ribs and he winced.

"Alright, I'm coming."

X-X

Susan returns to the Control Room just as the eerie glow of light speed fades: Unnatural colours pulsate and dance on the walls before switching to the clear cut clarity of space. It makes Susan want to take a deep breath; like the air's just been refreshed – the fragrant spring breeze after a stifling winter season.

The captain gives them a quick nod from his command chair: he's Centarii, one of the first of his race to sign on with the Rangers and the very first to be made Captain. Susan's stomach gives a twist at seeing him there; not at his race – the Rangers are truly 'multi-cultural' now – but _where_ he's sitting.

Or rather where _she's_ notsitting: this trip's been odd – not giving the orders, not being in control. She's almost been a civilian; a position that takes some getting used to.

She and Marcus stand to one side, watching through the large window; there're only a few stars on the horizon this is an isolated area of space and Susan can see an asteroid field in the distance. But no moons. "So where exactly are these ten tribes?"

Captain Elopen mutters a few orders under his breath to the crew that Susan doesn't quite catch. "Sorry Entil'zh it should be just around…" The ship circles slowly and she can detect the frown on his face. "That's odd; we seem to be picking up some kind of disturbance between us and the –"

_WHAM! _

The ship hurtles to one side – an ear-splitting crack echoing through the roof. The view in front of them flips as Susan is thrown to the floor.

"Susan!"

"Marcus?" Her blurred gaze rolls open. "I'm fine!" The ground's still shaking. Marcus's pale face breaks through her broken vision. Her head's spinning as she stumbles up. "What the hell was that?"

"I have no idea but –"

He's cut off by another shake. Lights flash dancing on the inside of her blinking lids. The whole ship shudders. There are screams everywhere. Scattered yells and order in Minbarii reach them. Outside Susan can see ships sweeping past the window. She grips the nearby console with knuckled fists.

"I repeat. What. The. Hell. Was. That?"

Captain Elopen hears her. "Raiders Entil'zh!" He flips the comment over his shoulder; frantically calling out orders to the crew left standing.

"Raiders?" Marcus's English accent is tinged with disbelief. "Out here?" He frowns. "What could they be doing? It makes no sense."

Susan curses under her breath. "Well as much as I'd love to argue that out with you I think we have more urgent concerns right now!"

"Calm down there's a dear. I'm insulted you think so little of the White Stars. We can take down a couple of Raider ships."

Elopen glances over his shoulder at them his face taunt with concentration. "One Raider ship – yes; we would – as you humans say – have them for breakfast. Try nine by surprise. And we were damaged in the first hit."

"_Nine."_

Of course. Nine Raiders. Just their luck.

Susan always personally referred to 'Raiders' as 'Pirates': They committed the same crimes their predecessors had generations before. Only this time they robbed space ships rather than ocean ones.

They'd had been hunted almost to nonexistence in recent years; in Minbarii space they didn't – make that shouldn't – exist at all. This group must have taken shelter in the fringes hoping to be far enough away to avoid notice. Usually they travelled alone or rare pairs. Perhaps they were planning a large attack on some wealthy convoy passing.

Another explosion breaks Susan's train of thought. A fireball goes up past the window and scattered debris whirls through space. _One down, eight to go. _Her head's pounding. Jolts thud through her body. Feet firmly apart, struggling to stay centred. The White Star veers sharply to the right firing beams with pinpoint accuracy. _Seven._

Crashes echo as the doorway falls into itself. A Minbarii ducks out of the way and Susan's teeth jar. Dust drifts through the room grit settling into her dry mouth. Ahead a ship twists to face them. Steamrolling. Closer and closer and...

The green flash blinds them. She squints as the ship erupts into more flames. _Six. _Adrenaline's shooting through her veins, heart hitting a speed it hasn't reached in months. Her hair has spilled loose across her neck; Susan scrapes it back irritably with sweaty palms.

Anyone would think she's insane but this is actually, well, quite..._fun? _Yes Susan Ivanovo has finally lost it. But all those years of being stuck in offices; trotting out polite speeches and meandering through paperwork did take their toll. She's forgotten how alive you can feel at the point of death.

She glances at Marcus. A gash forms its way across his cheek, blood very red against the pale skin and dark hair. Even now he manages to flash a grin, eyes sparkling with the same excitement she can feel. Below that thought there's tautness to his expression. Hands clenching tightly, jaw twitching. With a start Susan realises why. Memories of their last battle flood her mind; right now the screams, the gunshots, the barking orders could be from _then. _An icy hand claws at her insides. She grits her teeth, steel determination setting in.

_That_ would not happen again.

"Captain!" Her yell rises above the din. Not quite like a soaring melody as much a wolf's howl. "Is it possible to go into light speed? Not that I've ever enjoyed being called a coward but it might be time to cut our losses."

"Thanks for that Susan; you are exactly the glass half full person we love having around at times like this._"_

She ignores Marcus's mutter beside her. She's not giving him _any _– and she means _any – _more chances to pull another stunt like that last one.

The Captain however looks furtive. "Entil'zh, I apologise but we – ah...can't."

"_Can't?"_

"Our hyper drive was hit during the first blast."

Marcus leans forward. "Surely our defences, our shields would have prevented that. Raider's ship aren't that powerful."

"No but...you see while you two – travelling around so much we thought this would be an opportune moment to do some extra technical work. The defences were um, down for a little while..." He cowers back under the strength of Susan's glare. "It was only one day! Maybe two we just didn't think it would be an issue –"

Another boom cuts the sentence off almost throwing him out of his seat. Susan and Marcus sway, clenching the console.

Glimpses of the remaining ships are out the window. All six wheeling around to encase them.

"You didn't think it would be an _issue_!"

Marcus glances at her and back to Elopen. "Circle back." He ordered.

The Captain pauses and the ships approach closer, blocking up the horizon.

Susan ignores them. Something in Marcus's voice forces her to focus on him.

He looks back at her, dark eyes clear and steady.

A thousand message pass in an instant; her gaze widens in brief shock before returning to dauntless steel.

She purses her lips and gives a sharp nod.

"Do as he says."

The ships are still coming.

Elopen frowns, darting between the two.

She waits; he's an intelligent Captain – and a brave one.

Even the bravest can wilt sometimes though.

The window view is almost completely consumed by metal, the ships are going to fire any second now...

Susan watches as his mind connects the dots: what little colour in his face drains away but apart from that he remains still.

Marcus fixes his gaze on him, ignoring the rocking ground. "Can you do it?"

Elopen raises his head, every inch a Ranger. "Whether we _can_ do it is no matter." His jaw clenches in determination. "We live for the One...and we die for the One. We have no other option to try."

As the ships begin to fire, golden streaks raining down upon them Elopen's orders ring through the air.

The White Star flips around, executing a backward turn. They narrowly twist around the raiders and plunge into the asteroid field.

Streaking through a narrow gap the Raider behind them fires; grazing the side of the ship.

"Just so you know!" Elopen informs them, the dignity of the former moment lost instantly.

"You two are –" They dip under another approaching pair.

"– completely – " Miss another mammoth asteroid by mere inches.

"– utterly – " Dodge the neon beam of the Raider behind them.

"– unquestionably – " Small scatters of rock pound the White Star's wing.

"– INSANE!"

Their purser veers into one of the (many) space rocks and explodes into a thousand scraps of gleaming shard.

Susan stifles a wince, holding the stoic expression perfected over the years.

He's right, negotiating an asteroid field itself is suicide: With six (five, she corrects herself mentally) enemy ships tailing you it's...

Well what's one step further than suicide?

Susan inhales deeply trying to control the sudden bubbling in her stomach. Outside her Elopen and the crew's yells slowly sink into the background, her mind only aware of stifling silence.

It closes in on her like the ships outside, shutting her eyes she aware of a sudden sense of claustrophobia: as if death itself was reeling her in. Trapping her in the cage that had waited so long.

Susan has never been scared of death.

Many people (mistakenly) believe that she has never been scared at all but they're wrong.

She has been scared of many things: Of being left behind. Of failing her friends, her people and occasionally the whole galaxy. Of losing what control she has and cracking her practiced mask of strength. Of watching _others _die without her but for herself...

She has never been afraid to die.

So there is _no _reason for her to be shaking at this moment. There is _no_ logical explanation for her ice cold fingers and fire hot cheeks. There is _no_ cause for terror to be flooding her veins and horror clogging her throat.

Susan Ivanovo is not – cannot – at this crucial (and perhaps last) moment be – _afraid _of death?

But she _is. _

She does not want to die: for the first time in all her years of battles Susan does not face death like a challenge, an enemy to fight head on but a dark shadow – whose only form of defeat is escape.

Death – the shadow – is not an enemy to court and encourage and toy with – any sensible person should _flee._

It is something to _run _from.

Irony of ironies it is only now that she's figured this out.

Susan knows why this change – this transformation – has occurred. For the first time in too many years, she has something to live for.

Now she understand why people fear death, why they speak of it in hushed and terrified tones: it is because they have something to lose. It is not the redeemer but the thief.

"Susan?" Marcus's soft voice pierces her silent world and she opens her eyes.

Tremors still rock through the White Star and she is vaguely aware of another explosion of red and gold in the cluttered expanse of space however Susan's gaze fixes on his. The substance in her throat which she called terror turning to a much more familiar lump.

Accompanying this lump is the heat behind her eyes, quickly boiling up to brim but not _quite _fall. (She is still retaining some level of control after all).

Marcus – as intuitive always – doesn't patronise her with comfort or false reassurance. He knows better than that, instead he braces himself against the increasing impact and reaches out to grip her hands in his.

"I always said you were too pessimistic for your own good."

"I'm Russian." The reply comes out in a tremulous half-laugh, half sob.

He laughs. "And I'm English. I don't use that as an excuse for anything."

"It's an excuse for _everything. _Do you really think you would have lived this long if you didn't have your stupid nationality to take responsibility?"

The Ranger-come- Entil'zh laughs again and Susan see's something in his expression harden into determination and decision.

"Well let's see if my nationality will take responsibility for this."

Marcus releases her hands and step backwards, barely managing to remain upright.

He ignores the battle spinning on around them and carefully begins to lowers himself to the ground.

Susan stares at him in blank confusion. What was that man doing now?

A muffled bang and abrupt yelling distracts her momentarily and she glances around – suddenly remembering they've just lead a crew of Ranger's into a horrifying asteroid field and possibly the jaws of death itself.

Captain Elopen see's her and manages a wink. "Only three left Entil'zh – _If we live that long trusting you lunatics." _He adds the final comment and rolls his eyes at Susan, nodding towards Marcus now balancing on one knee. "I'd listen to him if I was you – I think it's important."

Susan whirls around as Marcus extracts a small velvet box from the depths of his cloak.

Retorts, mocking and snarky comments all reach her tongue and halt; never to travel any further.

He _cannot_ be doing this. Not here, not now, not in the middle of battle! Her brain freezes in disbelief. He just can't.

It appears however that he can.

And he is.

"Susan!" He has to shout to be heard above the uproar.

She stares at him without reply. Not to shut him up with one of her 'looks' but because all her breath has been knocked out.

However he gives a sheepish grin, obviously jumping to the wrong conclusion. "Alright. I'll address you properly."

The box opens with slowness she finds torture in the current circumstances to reveal a ring – probably the most unexpected, unprecedented engagement ring in all of history.

"Susan Ivonoava." His tone is revered and awestruck and a thousand other emotions all rolled into one; she thinks he looks like a monk finally face to face with the holy spirit he has been serving his whole life. Eyes totally, utterly fixed on hers.

This cannot be happening.

"Daughter of Andre and Sophie Ivanov. Entil'zh over all the Rangers. Former General of EarthCore." Amusement sparkles in his eyes and the sides of his mouth quiver suspiciously.

"Also described as the right hand of vengeance, death incarnate, the boot-that-is-going-to-kick-your-sorry ass-all-the-way-back-to-earth, the last living thing that you will ever see and occasionally God herself."

A smile breaks her stupefied shock and Susan can't restrain a chuckle, warmth starting to blossom in her clenched stomach muscles and spreading throughout her body.

"And," Marcus swallows, licking his lips anxiously and for the first time she realises he's nervous.

"The most brilliant, the bravest – and the most beautiful woman I have ever met. I was wondering if you would..."

_Yes...?_

"I mean to say..."

_Come on. _

"Would you do me the..."

_Just get a move on you idiot!_

"Will you –"

Another explosion cuts him off.

For the briefest second his face is obscured from view by steam and debris raining down from the ceiling.

Horror seeps through Susan's bones, forcing strength into her numb body: she leaps forward towards him.

Her heart performs the same manoeuvre; clogging her throat in a wordless scream.

She can't breathe. She can't think – every fibre of her being aching to reach out to grab his hands in hers and _shake _him until he finishes that damn sentence!

Then the room clears and the White Star spins into control again; two Raider's ships still isolated sparks against the rugged black background dotted with grey asteroids.

Susan doesn't really notice this though.

_His _face is the only spark against the whirling backdrop of battle and death.

Dark hair falling over the serious profile – devoid of the usual brightening grin.

Hands not _quite _steady as he held up the small box for inspection. (Although of course that's because of the rocking ship).

Body tense and balanced under the simple Entil'zh robes.

Susan has always thought Marcus would fit right in with Arthur's Knights at the Round Table – complete with the cloak and code of honour.

A hero who seemed to truly think she _was _worth fighting and battling and sacrificing for.

A man who would look at her with _that_ ridiculously sappy expression as if she was _his _holy grail.

Yep. That was the expression he was wearing now.

His voice – no longer faltering – broke through her babbling consciousness.

"Susan. Will you marry me?"

_Finally._

Susan ignores the yells drifting into the background. The star dusted explosion of two more ships. The asteroids whirling by like Satan's play toys – threatening to wipe them out in an instant.

Somehow in that moment none of it seems that significant.

One word though; one word means more than everything in the galaxy put together.

For a brief moment Susan imagines how Marcus would express the importance of this word to her:

The lost city of Atlantis rising from the ocean, Excalibur wielded in the hand of the Once and Future King, Helen rescued from Troy after decades of battle, the Stone Table of Aslan cracking at the dawn of the new day.

But Susan isn't Marcus, her mind is not one of flowery prose and colourful metaphors – her mind is made of battle plans and military manoeuvres. Logical and pragmatic.

To Susan this one word is more than anything she can express.

It is a miracle she is _able _to say it at all.

"_Yes." _

It is their future.

The grin that breaks out on his face is even greater – if that is possible – than the word itself.

In an instant he is on his feet; tenderly slipping the narrow band onto her finger, brushing his lips over her knuckles.

She holds the ring up; admiring the lights of the final imploding ship glinting against the metal.

It is a simple design: a gold circle, smooth and sinuous set with one emerald and one ruby twisted together to create the impression of two hands clasped together; gripping never to release.

Susan raises her head to smile at Marcus, knees still braced.

He gazes down at her; hands enclosing her's – this doesn't help with the balancing issue much but...oh well.

"You always did do things unconventionally." They're close enough _not _to have to yell now.

"Imagine how boring things would be if I didn't."

They've completely obliterated the Raiders but the chances are the asteroid field will kill them anyway.

Susan decides to let that thought go for now and leave negotiating the mine field of certain death to the crew for once.

"Mmm...Well it would certainly be quieter."

Marcus leans in closer; his nose brushing hers, voice like velvet. "Maybe."

She presses her forehead to his; inhaling his scent, his smell, absorbing every detail of his being.

They're death could be any second now – and she doesn't really care.

With that thought Susan abandons all control. A laugh breaks through; bubbling with mirth and she throws her arms around her _fiancée's_ neck.

"Marcus, we're – _Marcus!_"

His own laughter mounting the man in question swings her around, arms tightly cocooning her waist.

Susan's hair fans out wildly, his cloak flows out behind him like some giant bat as they spin. Dark shadow mingles with flame to create a striking entwinement; Neider and the other Ranger's throw them an odd glance but Susan doesn't notice.

Around her the room disintegrates into a whirling mass; the crew, the battered White Star interior, the asteroids outside and even further beyond – the stars themselves all merge into a hazy mist as Susan and her husband-to-betwirl together. (_Twirl?_ Her?)

A strange sense of freedom and recklessness overcomes Susan as they turn: These could be her last moments on – well not earth, but in this life at least and she is the happiest she has_ ever_ been.

(Yes Susan Ivonova just _admitted _she is happy).

If God and Heaven and all of that_ is_ out there after all; then she's pretty sure it must be more of _this._

And what the hell: happiness, joy, eternal bliss or whatever you want to call it doesn't seem so bad.

Or maybe she's already died and this _is _Heaven in some form or other.

But right now, she has nothing to lose.

So instead of fighting the rocking ship she flows as one for it. Instead of resisting the jerks and jarring of the White Star she dances with her. Instead of avoiding the asteroids she _laughs_ along with them.

Susan grips Marcus tighter and the intensity rises.

Closer and closer they lean; the tension of the crew mounting, nervousness soaring until at last, at _last_ – the ship shoots out into the clear expanse of space and their lips meet in the final, thunderous kiss.

Susan isn't really sure how long it takes for them to realise they have survived the impossible. She's not really conscious of anything but his body wrapped around hers (in a way that she certainly wouldn't normally allow in public).

It isn't until a polite cough seeps through her mind that she becomes aware of - other things.

"Um, Entil'zh?"

The two of them break off to see Neider looking at them sheepishly; though Susan can detect the mischief lingering beneath the respectful gaze.

"I just wanted to inform you:" He says a face so blank that it makes Susan instantly suspicious.

"That we've just achieved a feat never recorded in history previously, a monumental event and the lives of every crew member – and of course the two of you – are wholly secure. I did not want to um, bother you; no doubt you'll consider it of little importance but just in case...I just thought you may want to know. Do feel free to return to your...previous activities."

Instantly Susan returned to her previous self; iron laws and control setting her scattered mind.

She withdrew her arms from Marcus's neck as if she had been stung by a Narn blaster and fired a steely glare of her own at Neider. He cowered a little.

"Well Captain," (Marcus instinctively backed away at the unbearable sweetness in her tone).

"I'm grateful for your concern. We both are. Of course any other such comments, relating to –what was it? Our _activities, _would of course result in the immediate trial – and probable execution – of a Captain who thought it...how did you phrase it? That it wouldn't be an 'issue' to remove the defences from his ship for a couple of days – while transporting the Entil'zh."

She smiled brightly and Neider gulps, bypassing white and going straight to ash grey.

"Understood Entil'zh, I will just...uh, examine our current status."

"You do that."

Still smiling Susan turned back to her fiancée though that word still hasn't really taken on any meaning yet.

"I see you haven't lost your special touch."

She eyes him warningly; he'd better realise that what took place before was the result certain death assumptions. She wouldn't be losing her head again like that anytime soon.

"Neither have you. Flying through an asteroid field?"

"I can't take any credit. The idea came from Star Wars."

"Of course. Another classic." Her brain is slowly beginning to get itself back into some kind of order though her cheeks don't seem to be cooling anytime soon.

"Well you can't knock this one; we wouldn't be here without it." He gives her the mischievous grin that causes her heart to stumble slightly. _Susan... _"Funnily enough the couple on that ship managed to get into a situation pretty similar to the one we're in now."

"What? Engaged?"

The truth of the phrase suddenly hits her like a rock and her fists clench automatically.

"We're _engaged!"_

She walks unsteadily over to the window under the pretence of checking for anymore Raider ships; thoughts immediately thrown back into turmoil. Marcus follows – a bounce in him step. _Damn that man._

It's not that she objects to the idea of...marriage. Not to him anyway. If she's given time she'll probably reconnect with that previous euphoria.

But that's what she'd like: _time. _She wants to consider this; she would have liked to consider _before_ the proposal come to think of it.

"You don't have to sound quite so disgusted." He eyes her fists. "Or look quite so furious – most people consider this a happy occasion."

"You proposed to me in the middle of a battle!"

Marcus scans the unregistering horizon. "Well I can't take credit for that idea either; I stole it off an old historical film about pirating in the Caribbean. Fascinating time period by the way." He glances down at her, eyes enquiring. "Interesting, I didn't think you'd be worried about conventionality –unless you want me to ask again?"

"If you value your head at this moment – then use it."

The words are more intense than she intends and his eyebrows quirk in reply. Susan bites her tongue in frustration, calming herself with deep, even breaths, finger slowly unlocking.

If she can just establish how to deal with _this _then life might take on some form of understandable shape; unprecedented situations are her forte after all, this should be going better.

"Right then..." A hint of worry has entered Marcus's tone despite the chiding gaze.

"Susan, I didn't mean to pressure you." She hears him swallow deeply; here he went – all selfless and sensitive again.

"I have been trying to work out when to ask for days – hence the ring – but the time never seemed right. I know, procrastination, a human habit but just now I wasn't sure if either of us would get out alive and the decision was made for me."

He looks at her again, steady and serious. "If you more time to think; I know how much you hate surprises despite your claims; then that's fine.

Susan sighs in deep frustration. Why does he have to be so damn noble all the time? Let alone the echoing her exact thoughts ability; weren't they meant to have been married for at least fifty years before he could do that?

More time. Of course Marcus would offer that to her; he'd offer anything for her.

Susan looked at the ring again: it felt comfortable, natural – if she was superstitious (which she wasn't despite the Russian blood), she could say that was a sign it was meant to be there.

Probably Marcus had just secretly measured her finger width one night; nothing more.

Her gaze drifted; sweeping the darkened sky with the spotted asteroid field already fading away in the distance, back to the ring winking like tiger's eyes (she had seen tigers once; interesting experience) and finally trailing up to Marcus's face.

She could have all the time in the world and her answer would still be the same.

Completely on its own accord her hand whispered up to his cheek, not quite cupping it just –resting. A reminder.

"Don't think you're getting rid of me that easily." Susan drew her eyebrows together masking the aforesaid soaring sensation rising to her throat. "When you ask a woman a question like that you have face the consequences."

The joy that flooded Marcus's own eyes was so powerful she was surprised it didn't burn straight through her.

"Well then," he said, accent oddly emphasises as it always was in these situations. "I suppose I'll have to go through with this then."

Susan smiled as his arms pressed to her back; warm against her shoulder blades, slowly drawing her closer.

"I suppose you will."

Somehow she was sure they could both deal with this consequence.


	4. Chapter 4: Finally

**Final chapter here, a little shorter than the last one just to round off the series it must be finished where all happily ever afters' do: a wedding! **

**X-X**

**Chapter Four**

The ceremony takes place on Minbar. Or strictly speaking _above _Minbar.

Marcus and Susan discarded both choices of a church and a temple and instead opted to have the wedding aboard a White Star overlooking the planet. It's small, private and ensures that they _will not be disturbed._

After all Marcus thinks; even the most persistent Ranger's have trouble boarding a shielded ship hidden behind three collective moons.

There's also a certain attachment they both have for space: a fondness for the sensation of spinning alone in the star encrusted blackness.

They met in this suspended reality: on this uncharted plane between the Heavens hovering somewhere up above and the fiery depths of hell sinking below.

It was here polite acquaintance quickly developed to a relationship of bickering and teasing and occasionally deep and painfully raw exchanges of the heart.

Ideally of course they would have had it on Babylon 5 – but as that possibility's closed (even he knows his limit of miracle workings) they settle for the flagship where the proposal took place.

Both of them know some people would find the ceremony almost laughable. They're married far away from Earth, (which most would incorrectly label as their 'home'), the guest list is embarrassingly short and no family members are even around to be on it anyway. Marcus for one can visualise that scenario:

_Roll Call! _

_Groom's brother (best man)? __**Murdered.**_

_Mother-of-the-bride? __**Committed suicide.**_

_Father or brother to give bride away? __**One killed and one rotted away from disease.**_

_Any other close relatives? __**Dead.**_

Right then.

Even Sinclair and Sheridan aren't around to walk Susan up the aisle; both been whispered away by fantastical beings 'into the past' or 'beyond the rim' and you can't really nip back after that.

But despite all of this the ceremony isn't a funeral type at all: it isn't a day of mourning or grief or despair...it is a message of hope.

Not many would realise that but it _is_: this wedding is a shining example of moving forward and miracles against all odds.

Susan and Marcus being_ together_ is an unprecedented surprise of holy proportions.

Susan walks herself up the aisle in the end; it's a representation of how she's lived for the last however many years after all, Marcus loves that independent streak. Bur Delenn willingly takes on the role of maid of honour, and David's there sitting alongside Michael and Lise and their daughter. Zach and Vir come of course and for once the Emperor manages to escape his fifty man entourage.

He asks Steven to take place as best man which his friend (despite many suggestive jokes) does with pride. The wedding vows are conducted by a rather elderly Brother Theo of all people – neither of them were Catholic (Susan was Jewish which could've been awkward) but he agreed to be flexible.

When Susan glided (odd using that description, normally she was the marching type) up to the altar though Marcus forgets everyone and everything else.

She is so radiant, so beautiful that for a moment Marcus's gaze blurs and the vision hazes over so he can hardly see her – just a vague figure with hair curling against shimmering white shift, ebbing and flowing like an insubstantial angel.

Suddenly he is scared, hands numbing up and mouth dry though Steven was thrusting mugs of beer at him not ten minutes ago. Marcus had laughed it off then – now he wishes he'd accepted the offer.

This is too _much, _he cannot – must not – be truly living in this world, with _her_. The whole of the last year, the most precious months of his life; surely they must be a dream, a fantasy and any moment now he'd wake up to the bitter truth.

Then she reaches out to clasp his hand in hers and he returns to reality and the scent of Minbarii rose petals drifting through the air. She is his anchor. If Marcus wanted to extend to metaphor he could say she was so much more; his rock, his sun, his centre of being, his entire _world. _

So he grips her fingers tightly; gazing deeply into the startling blue eyes bubbling with the same suppressed emotion as his. That's another mistake a lot of people would make; they'd think they were an unemotional couple, lacking affection – if only they knew.

Behind them Brother Theo's steady rumble intoned the words as old as time. Marcus had always wondered why people didn't get bored of the same reciting; wouldn't they want it skipped? Now he thinks he's gets it.

"_Dearly beloved we are gathered here today..." _

X-X

The twins – moon and sun hang high in the sky, perfectly parallel above the green glade. Wind breezes though the fields, gentle ripples coursing their way through the whispering leaves and Susan's flowing locks. Her hair brushes against the back of her neck; warm as the rays of light showering down on them.

The chest her head is pressed against is warm too; supporting her as they twirl back and forth, fingers of one hand laced with hers and the other cradling her back. Normally she'd feel patronised – but today is a day of first time ever's after all. Susan closes her eyes as glimpses like the bright flowers adorning the trees weave together accompanied by shimmering laughter.

They're all here; everyone who's alive anyway. Normally that thought would make her feel bitter but for once she doesn't think about all those who haven't made it; she focuses on everyone who _has. _

After the Shadow War and even the twenty years following Susan couldn't quite shake off the merest niggling feeling buried within her mind. It was hard to place. Not jealously but wistfulness, not resentment but regret.

After all everyone else seemed to have their happy ending, granted Leda and Lennier didn't quite get the fairy tale life but on the whole it was hard to find a sore spot with any of them.

Delenn and John were the most obvious example in their perfect little bubble; happily married, raising a son and ruling the world. (It wasn't that they didn't deserve it of course, everyone knew they'd been through a lot to get there and there was no denying the sacrifices they'd made but still...they weren't the only ones).

Steven zooming off to his dream job on Earth; any chance of life changing medical discoveries and he was content – Susan wouldn't mention the certain blonde, Number One with whom he seemed to have certain...connections with.

G'kar; no matter how much he moaned _did _become a renowned prophet and a legendary figure throughout his people so Susan personally felt that (despite his sticky end), he didn't have much to complain about in the big picture.

Londo was more complicated: at the time he seemed to have been granted his fondest wish and life ambition – i.e. all powerful ruler of his people. It had got a little more twisted in the following time but...well he _looked _happy at least.

Vir certainly was, finally having proved his worth in the world but even Susan with her cynicism couldn't begrudge the well meaning Centarii that. He was a good Ambassador on Babylon 5 and a golden Emperor, perhaps the best Centarii had ever seen. Not to the most exciting by any count, but certainly best – under his rule the people had flourished.

Zach, as always plodding stolidly along content with where the tide took him, whether it be Head of Babylon 5 Security or personal adviser to the Emperor. He'd made a difference, done what was right and now he was happy.

Even Garibaldi for crying out loud – alcoholic, paranoia freak and probably the _last _person you'd ever expect to settle down – got it all. Beautiful wife, sparkling daughter and multi-billion dollar company. Oh the irony.

Then there'd been Susan: the puzzle piece that didn't quite fit anymore; the odd part to the fluffy image. Throwing herself into work, absorbed in the tough military persona and all the while aching in the buried depths of her soul. It was hidden and often unfelt but when a part of you is ripped away it _bleeds_ and sometimes sticky plasters just don't cut it. It's not that she wasn't glad for them, for her friends and family but the slight unfairness just _needled. _

The song comes to its lilting end and Marcus stops; stooping to drop a soft kiss on her forehead before murmuring about needing to relieve himself. The idea startles Susan for a moment – somehow she'd thought that today would be above such things but obviously males couldn't understand that.

Shrugging she slips over to the drinks table set under the dappled shade: the reception is larger than the ceremony with more than enough Ranger's and even EarthForce personnel making up the numbers. Pouring herself a glass, Susan balances it carefully (she's just worked out that the dress is white and won't absorb the mess like the trusty Entil'zh uniform) and retreats to shelter under a large tree at the edge of the glade. Hopefully she'll be undisturbed here; the congratulations are welcome but well...a little peace is welcome to.

Susan rubs her free hand against the rough bark and tilts her head back to bathe in the warm rays peeping through the leaves, lulled into the serenity of the moment.

She almost jumps out of her skin when a familiar voice pierces the air behind her. "Well, he's finally done it then." Even the dry tones of Garabaldi manage to sound impressed.

Steven's clearer chime joins him in reply. "Lucky bastard."

They've obviously got the same idea of privacy she does but half hidden behind the tree they can't see her. Susan considers revealing herself but their continued conversation intrigues her.

She can hear Garibaldi sipping from his drink (not alcohol of course; he's been sober for years now and showing no sign of slipping up yet. Of course if he messed up at her wedding of all places it would be more than just his pride and self respect at state – she'd probably kill him). "Who would've thought though? I mean those two were the last people I'd expect at making it work with _anyone, _let alone each other – they're both train wrecks for relationships."

Susan pursed her lips wryly at his typical complimentary comment. _Thanks for that Garibaldi. _Still he was right and what she'd been thinking moments before.

But he was carrying on, albeit more quietly. "But here we are and honestly I've never seen two people so damn happy in my entire life. It's exhausting really just to watch them."

Steven chuckled quietly at that.

"What?" Garibaldi asked irritably.

She could almost _see _the doctor shaking his head. "No I was just thinking..."

"About? Do I have to extract it from you?"

"Well," he chuckled again, "when Marcus first ah...admitted he had an – _interest _in Susan I shot him down so fast he wouldn't have time to blink. Told him that, what was it? She was so far from his type they were practically in separate galaxies. Of course we were surrounded by some life threatening parasites pointing guns at us at the time, (that could have affected my terseness) but even so; I thought that there was more of a chance we'd master cloning manipulation than him ever having a chance with her."

Susan rolled her eyes, trying to remember when Marcus first started showing an 'interest' in her; it must have been about the time of that incident with all of the damn bugs creeping into people's spines. A nightmare and thank goodness she hadn't had to deal with it but that was certainly when she noticed something..._different _about Marcus, even if it was just with the rose mix up.

Of course, her being aware of her _own _attraction to him hadn't aided his cause in any way. The opposite in fact: she'd slammed down the emotional doors faster than he could spout one of his ridiculous quotes.

Garibaldi spoke again, pulling her back to reality. "Well you and me both, we all told him it was a lost case before it began...except maybe Delenn but then what can you expect from Mnbarii? Especially irritating hopeful, starry eyed types."

Susan heard a small _thwap _and guessed Steven had hit Garibaldi on the shoulder. "Don't be rude."

There was silence for a moment before Steven spoke again. "I'm glad for them though you know? If anyone deserved happiness it's these two."

Susan had to strain her ears to hear Garibaldi's answer it was so low. "Yes." He agreed. "They deserve this." He took another deep draught of his drink, swallowing noisily. "Well come on then; I don't want to let _my _wife moan on for me neglecting her. I tell you what, I'm going to have a lot more to live up to in husband standards now Marcus is on the scene, mind you; a tip or two for him wouldn't hurt..."

Their voices faded off with vanishing footsteps and Susan had hardly had a chance to lean back and laugh before a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around their waist. She gave a sudden start and relaxed the smooth voice warm against her neck.

"You'd better not be hiding."

"And so what if I was?" She replied, stroking the rough hands encasing her own.

"Well, if you were..." He paused meaningfully and Susan tried to ignore her racing pulse and the fact he could probably feel it breaking all decent speed limits. "I'd have to say you haven't quite grasped the concept that a wedding reception is meant to be a _celebration _with _people _and I'd have to drag you back for another dance."

Susan laughed, ripping free of his embrace only to slip her arms back around his neck. "And if I'd been spying on people's opinion on this apparently miracle breaking marriage?" She asked, staring up at him.

He bent his head, eyes caressing the contours of her face without even making contact and she felt her breath catch. "Then I'd tell you, you still haven't realised that people are meant to be talked to not spied on, never listen to gossip and I'd still make you dance anyway because you're obviously still suffering from suspicious paranoia and need to _relax_."

This was so typically Marcus; the way all their conversation had started all those years ago and the way they were still going now.

Susan didn't envy John and Delenn anymore; in a way she felt sympathy for them. They'd had this – this all encompassing, powerful joy and the happiness has shone in their every day together – but it had been cut away, ended far sooner than was right. Now it was her, _their _turn, hers and Marcus's and dammit she was going to make it last and make it _worth _it.

Laughing Susan dragged her new husband back to the dancing and the future awaiting them.

**The End**

**(As all happy ever after stories finish)**


End file.
